“Dude, you GOTTA read The Iliad.” So encourages Noah Sandborn, the titular boy next door, surprisingly versed in Greek literature for someone who seems more growth hormone than man. Sandborn is played by Ryan Guzman, introduced bicep-first when he glides into frame to help his neighbour with a wonky garage door.

That neighbour is the newly separated mother and high school classics teacher Claire Peterson, played by the sexy-but-still-comfortably-attired Jennifer Lopez. As we learn in a choppy opening sequence more befitting a TV episode recap than a feature film, Claire recently tossed her philandering husband Garrett (John Corbett) out of the house. Occasional meals and fishing trips with their son Kevin (Ian Nelson) keeps the not-yet-ex around a bit, and Claire’s nights on the singles’ scene aren’t so great. (On a blind date, a mean “businessman” confronts Claire and her liberal arts kind for not grooming kids to have “useful skills”.) Maybe Claire should just forgive her wayward husband, or maybe she should focus on being the best individual she can be, but what she definitely shouldn’t do is make goo-goo eyes at the new hunk across the way, especially if she is in that peach-colored silk chemise and he’s in nothing but the cut marble that is his shirtlessness.

In time, they mate. But the morning after, Claire expresses intense regret, accepts responsibility as “the adult” and says it was a mistake. Why the guilt? Well, even though actor Ryan Guzman is 27 and looks it, when the class bell rings tomorrow we in the audience learn that he’s actually a new transfer senior and (hold on to your binders) now he’s in her class.

What follows is an amusing reverse Fatal Attraction. He shows up and makes coarse innuendos. He gifts Claire with a “first edition” of The Iliad (which, alas, isn’t a papyrus scroll or an orator from ancient history intoning Homer’s great yarn. I don’t know what the hell they mean by “first edition”, frankly, but Claire, despite wanting to distance herself from Noah, coos appreciatively). He’s suddenly the best pal of her dorky son, teaching him to box and to shoot oranges with a gun. The more Claire pushes him away (and the more Garrett seems to be rejoining the family), the more obsessed Noah becomes. Somehow, he seemed to know this might happen even before the pair fell to their passion that one night, as he videotaped their more-than-PG-13-but-not-very-R-rated peccadillo. In time he’s threatening her job by going public with evidence of their dalliance.

Eventually this leads to violence and heroics and even Kristin Chenoweth (Claire’s boss/BFF) getting bonked on the head and tied up with rope. Alas, other than one crafty camera move that boasts a gloriously ridiculous “he’s hiding behind the potted plant” reveal, there isn’t much of a visual stamp on the whole picture. It feels rushed, bland and cheap. Not only that, but its ancient Greek metaphors slip too easily from Homer to Sophocles.

There is no doubt that certain sophisticated audiences will find mirth in the campiness, preferably while watching this at home with ample glass of white zinfandel. The problem is that they’ll somewhat be projecting their hopes onto the screen. The Boy Next Door is bad, but it isn’t THAT bad. It isn’t Showgirls bad, which really is a pity. No one could ever accuse Jennifer Lopez of being a great thespian, but she isn’t chewing those leather-bound first editions on her shelf either. Those who delight in seeing our cultural divas in any state of dramatic extreme will have a great time, but for a would-be cult classic, this could have been much more. So instead we’ll just stay up late at night with an unquenchable longing, knowing that somewhere out there is a trashier version of cougar J-Lo versus the meaty young Achilles-quoting hunk who doesn’t understand when he’s dumped.